


Fake You Out

by MoreHeartLessAttack



Series: Low-Key Songfics [2]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Infinity War spoilers, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Psychological Trauma, low-key songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:16:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoreHeartLessAttack/pseuds/MoreHeartLessAttack
Summary: May cries.Peter's not sure what else he expected her to do - ground him indefinitely and punch Tony Stark in the face, maybe - but this wasn't it.





	Fake You Out

**Author's Note:**

> The second installment of my post-IW low-key songfics, in which I hurt poor Peter just for funsies. Enjoy.

**I'll never be, be what you see inside**

**You say I'm not alone, but I am petrified**

**You say that you are close; is close the closest star?**

**You just feel twice as far; you just feel twice as far**

_**(twenty one pilots - Fake You Out)** _

* * *

 

May cries.

Peter's not sure what else he expected her to do - ground him indefinitely and punch Tony Stark in the face, maybe - but this wasn't it. May's never been much for crying.

But Peter's barely been back on the planet for twenty minutes (and his legs are still shaky from the gravity shift) when Happy leads May into the compound, and sure enough, there are tears on her face. She isn't bothering to hide them. Her eyes don't so much as glance in Tony's direction; they lock onto Peter like a tractor beam. He's sitting huddled in the corner of a large sofa, wearing an oversized Stark Industries hoodie and sweatpants, and her lasers see right through him.

Then her arms are around him, warm and soft while the sweet and familiar scent of her perfume overwhelms his senses, and Peter loses it.

He hears Tony excusing himself from the room (he doesn't do emotions, Peter has learned) but he's too far gone to care. Peter isn't crying, exactly; his are dry, but he's gasping and dry-sobbing into May's shoulder. Panic is clawing it's way up the back of his throat as he himself claws at the back of his Aunt's bleach-stained T-shirt, desperate to hold onto something that will ground him to Earth.

Happy drives them home an hour later. Tony does not come to say goodbye. Peter thinks that might hurt his feelings if he wasn't so exhausted.

The three-hour drive back to Queens is silent, and Peter falls, unwillingly, asleep.

* * *

 

He wakes with a start, only to realize he's back in his own bed.

Peter's memories of getting here are fuzzy; leaning heavily against Happy and shuffling his feet up the stairs, an arm around his shoulders holding him steady. May unlocking the door and sniffling _thank you_. Happy's voice so unusually kind in his _you're welcome_.

Significantly more concerning than his sleep-fuzzed recollection of the day's events is the actual sleep part. He hadn't meant to do that; hadn't meant to let his guard down, be vulnerable, unaware. He _can't_ do that. He has to protect May, has to protect himself, ready to fight, always on edge, tense, fearful, _waiting_ - 

May's talking to someone. Her voice must have woken him. She's speaking in hushed tones, as if it helps. With thin walls and super-senses, Peter can hear everything that goes on in the apartment (and in some of the neighbors', too). May must have forgotten.

(Or maybe he forgot to tell her.)

Peter sits up on the bunk, wincing as it creaks. The last thing he needs is for May to know he's awake. He can't handle any smothering right now.

She's on the phone. The sound of feet pacing in the living room is dull but audible. Nobody is responding as far as Peter can hear, but she speaks as though they are.

"He hasn't spoken a word, Tony -" of course, _of course_ she's reporting his every move to Tony, what else is new - "I don't know what to _do_."

There's a long pause, and then a shaky sigh. May sounds like she might start crying again. Maybe she already is. Peter's short burst of anger leaves him in a rush of breath, replaced by guilt.

"I can't help him unless I know what happened," May says.

Another pause.

"Only part of it. I know he -" May chokes, then clears her throat. "That he was one of them. The ones who disappeared."

How does she know that? Peter didn't _want_ her to know that -

"But people on the news...they're saying it was just like falling asleep. They said it didn't hurt. That can't be all that happened to him."

Peter draws his knees up to his chest, buries his face in them, and wraps the comforter from his bed tight around his shoulders, feeling slightly indignant but mostly just ashamed.

Of course it didn't hurt them. They didn't feel their mutant healing factors fighting against their disintegration, each atom in their bodies screaming as it battled and _lost_. They didn't feel their lungs burn when the muscles that helped them expand failed to cooperate.

"Fine. I'll ask him myself."

_Oh, God, please don't._

Peter's door creaks open.

"You're awake," May says softly. Peter keep his face buried. The mattress dips. "Peter, sweetheart. Please look at me."

Her hand runs soothingly up and down his back. May is all Peter has left; he is incapable of denying her anything. He lifts his head to meet May's eyes, guilt intensifying tenfold when he sees unshed tears building up again behind her glasses.

"I'm sorry," Peter croaks, his voice rough from nearly a day (a week, kind of, technically) without use. "You don't - don't cry. You don't have to cry. I'm okay."

"You're not okay." It's not a question.

Her hand moves to the nape of his neck, pulling his head to rest against her shoulder. Peter goes willingly.

He amends, "I will be."

May has either forgotten to ask or thought better of it. Peter is grateful either way. She only presses a kiss to his forehead and hums in acknowledgment, then leaves it alone.

Peter knows the dam will break eventually. May probably knows it, too.

He just needs this lie for today. And maybe for the week (or the rest of the year). But there's no mistaking that it _is_ just that: a lie. 

Because, honestly, Peter is sure as all hell that nothing is ever going to be okay again.

* * *

 

**And I'll fall down**

**And I'll break down**

**And I'll fake you out**

**All I wanna**


End file.
